


Antarctica

by RiriReaper



Series: Where the Knives are Kept [1]
Category: DRAMAtical Murder
Genre: I was trying to be poetic but it kinda sucks, M/M, One-Sided Relationship, not really porn sorry friends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-30
Updated: 2014-09-30
Packaged: 2018-02-19 08:46:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2382185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RiriReaper/pseuds/RiriReaper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He would let him fight, he would let him struggle, he would let him insult and curse and abuse if it meant he could pretend there was something other than aggressive passion. And he always did just that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Antarctica

It was a cold, narrow arrangement. One that served a grave understanding of the human capability to interpret emotion. It was one-sided, on both ends—to one, hate, and love to the other. They were like children that played with an object that had been forbidden, no matter how many times they'd been punished.  
Eventually, the punishment had become a reward.

There was the slightest sound, a light clack of perhaps a window, a door, or some other means of entrance. His ears picked up on it like it had been the only sound in an enormous enclosed space, and he immediately knew. There was no forewarning, there was no sign... There was just a singular, dull sound that announced the arrival of another existance. Small, quiet thudding was heard—at first distant, but increasingly was it louder. He rose from his comfy place on his sofa, closing the program he'd been viewing.  
"You again?"  
The quiet atmosphere was broken as if it had been sliced by a knife. Two sets of eyes met, exploring one another, challenging one another. No words were spoken by the other as he moved closer. Blond eyelashes lowered as his gaze dropped. He was gazing in a rather forward manner, feasting his eyes on the taller, tanner figure. As green irises rose again, pale fingers met a perfectly curved jaw, touching him at first as though he might break... Before he ensnared those fingers into tresses of silky black, resolving to break him if he indeed proved to be fragile. He tugged those flowing locks forward, crushing his lips against those of the man they belonged to.  
There was a struggle then. Scarred hands gripped at lithe wrists and pulled in an attempt to break the hold on his hair so he could pull away. It proved to drive the smaller male further, furious sounds of determination muffling into their kiss. Next, he tried to shove him, break his hold by force, but it sent them both tumbling to the hardwood floor previously beneath their feet. Finally, he pulled away.  
"Stop fighting me." The black haired male pushed again, moving away hurriedly, despite those calmly uttered words. "You know you want this as much as I do."  
"What if I don't?"  
"Then you're lying to yourself." He moved in again, straddling his lap. This wasn't the first time they'd done this. It was routine—he would invite himself in, and offer himself raw. He would let him fight, he would let him struggle, he would let him insult and curse and abuse if it meant he could pretend there was something other than aggressive passion. And he always did just that.  
Lips met and breaths mingled. And, as much as he struggled, the spirit behind each shove, tug and dodge began to wither. Finally, Noiz had won.  
Pulling away, his green eyes opened to gaze at the male's perfect face. They were both visually appealing, he supposed, but there was a difference. The vitality and warmth in Koujaku's being was befitting of a model, where his own was more of a porcelain doll. One that cracked and crumbled with every meeting they had. He didn't care. Koujaku could break him if he wanted, as long as he could stay with him in this cold corner of the world that only he could navigate.  
He shuddered as he felt scarred hands sliding along his milky flesh, creating invisible cracks under his surface. He loved it. Slipping his shirt off so he could feel it more, lips melded together in a third kiss. But this time, there was no struggle. A hot sigh left his lips as those hands carved into him, turning his flesh into a toy for his pleasure.  
Clothes were quickly discarded, gazes were exchanged, and hands explored. He treated himself with touching Koujaku as well. However, he could never lay claim to him in the same way he gave himself. He allowed this man to take and spoil himself, and never return anything, if only just to make him believe for just a while that this wasn't just sex—that this was love.  
Hesitating hands touched sensitive places and teased and pleased. As the heat of passion consumed them, Noiz moved to take it upon himself to bring them both pleasure. Koujaku filled him and wrecked him and turned him to nothing but a mess of limbs and bruised skin. Slender hands scratched and clawed at perfectly tanned skin as he was pounded relentlessly into the floor. He murmured his name as he climaxed and felt the same for Koujaku. However, the sweet name that fell from those lips was not his own. It was okay; he could pretend.  
As they panted on that floor, Koujaku rose and clothed himself. He sat upon the sofa, glaring off into space as Noiz situated himself as well. He finally spoke. "I hate you."  
Green eyes widened as a familiar sting rose up behind them. However, he wouldn't let the other male see. Instead, he put on a smug grin. "I know." He got up to leave for what seemed like once more out of an infinity.

I hate me, too.


End file.
